


A Fresh Coat of Paint

by Ferelden



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age: Inquisition - Freeform, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, F/M, Solas Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 09:33:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9378623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ferelden/pseuds/Ferelden
Summary: Solas attempts to distract himself by doing what he does best:  Avoiding emotion and painting.  His meditation has an interruption.  Pure Solas/Lavellan fluff with some ANGST.  One-shot to accompany a future, multi-chapter piece.





	

Thunder rolled somewhere in the distance as rain washed over Skyhold.  Winter had finally made its way out, and spring had come roaring through the mountains in a torrent of endless rainstorms.  The courtyard was little more than a bog, and even the Commander had conceded that the past two days had offered little opportunity for training.  Days like this, when the air was still cold and the weather was relentless, were better spent inside.  

Solas had been awake since early morning, working by the light of magefire and a single brazier.  His dreams hadn’t been disturbing, merely aimless, filled with a nagging sense of dread and guilt.  He’d woken with uneasiness weighing heavily in his gut, and painting was a suitable distraction.  The frescos spread out across the rotunda were a timeline as much as they were expression, and if the weather persisted, he’d have plenty of time to work on the most current.

He treasured these moments for their stillness.  The rain streaming across the fortifications was a comforting hum, and a brush felt at home in his hands.  There was some comfort in the knowledge that the smell of paint and rain never changed.  If he shut his eyes and took a deep breath, he was nearly home.  Nearly.

He worked fast, painting broad portions of the fresco at once, mixing pigment and water into wet plaster. He smoothed it with a care that spoke of years of training and dedication to the craft.  The paint was gritty beneath his nails, smeared in bright reds and vibrant blues on his arms from where he had thoughtlessly wiped a brush clean against the first available surface.  For hours, he’d had only the sound of the brush and the rain to keep himself company, broken intermittently by his own, soft humming.  His lips parted to form half-spoken words, forgotten songs rushing into one another to create an endless stream of music played out in his head.

He recognized the sound of her footsteps, busy though he was.  Solas lightened the grip on his brush, took a step back on the creaking scaffolding to appraise his work, one thumb pressed against his lips.  Solas was his own worst critic, and it wasn’t unlike him to replaster entire sections of his work in order to make the appropriate corrections, no matter how time-consuming the endeavor.  Even now, he could see;  There, a crooken line.  A subtle difference in hue.  Perhaps…

“Don’t,”  He heard her speak somewhere below him.  "I know what you’re thinking,“  Mirmirel continued, voice playful.  "Don’t do it.  It’s infuriating for the rest of us.  Let me guess– Fingerprint in the paint?  Misplaced dots?”  She teased, persistent, and Solas at last allowed himself a hint of a smile.

“Something like that,”  He lightly replied, eyes still on his work as he took two steps down from the scaffolding.  With one hand on the ladder, he reached out blindly with the other.  "There’s a cup of water, there,“  He gestured with one hand, but felt the press of cool ceramic against his palm before he could give further instruction.  Their hands brushed when he curled his fingers around the cup, and warmth blossomed where their skin touched.  ”…Thank you.“

"You’re filthy,”  Mirmirel’s voice was tinged with surprise as Solas stepped down onto the floor.  His tunic was a mess, streaked with brush marks.  There was a certain pleasure to seeing him this way;  Even when they were traveling in the wilds, Solas had a way of looking… Presentable.  Or, perhaps impressive was the right word.  He had presence, a sort of subtle nobility that lingered about him even when he was dressed in a set of clothes which hadn’t been washed for three days.  "How long have you been working?“

"Long enough,”  Solas assured her.  He didn’t wish for her to feel guilty for the interruption.  Besides, she was drenched, an observation which both startled and annoyed him.  He’d been so enthralled with his work that he didn’t notice.  "And you,“  He reprimanded, eyes narrowed as he looked her over, top to bottom.  "Are soaked.”  Her pale hair was plastered to her face, cheeks and nose pink from the cold.  Her teeth grit against little shivers.  She managed to mumble a complaint as he reached out to grasp her arm, turned it over to feel the inside of her wrist.  Chilled.

“I’m fine,”  Mirmirel protested before he could so much as utter a reprimand, though she saw it written on his face.  His eyes were narrow, lips pressed into a tight line as he looked down at her, long fingers still wrapped around her arm.  She didn’t try to reclaim it.  His hands felt nice against her, and his concern was flattering, albeit unnecessary.  She knew how to handle herself.  "It’s not the first time I’ve been wet and cold, Solas,“  She reminded him with a smile.  "But, if you want to warm me up,” She continued, her smaller hand resting on top of his.  "By all means.“

"Clever,”  Solas’s lips twitched as he released her.  "But no.  I’ve heard it’s unwise to go to bed with a wet head.“

"That’s not what you said when you found me in the bath,”  Mirmirel muttered.  The disappointment on her face must have been more obvious than she thought;  Solas chuckled and rested his palm against her cheek.  He bent to place a soft, lingering kiss against her brow.

“That,”  He murmured against her skin,  "Was quite different.“  Solas cherished the sound of her breath catching softly in her throat, and he had to admit that the offer was tempting.  But he wasn’t in the correct mindspace for such activities.  Perhaps later.   _Certainly_ later.  But not now.  He stepped back from her, allowed his fingertips to trail lightly over her jaw before he dropped his hand back to his side.  He turned and walked to his desk.  "Tell me about your morning.”

“My what?”  Mirmirel mumbled,  distracted, fingers tracing  over her cheek.  Goosebumps had broken out over her arms, and they weren’t from the cold.  It hardly felt fair that Solas could be so alluring and yet still be unavailable.  She was beginning to suspect that he actually _enjoyed_ this little song and dance.  She wouldn’t put it past him.  Mad old elf.

“Your _morning_ ,”  Solas reminded her crisply, voice warm with amusement.  "How did you get so wet?“

’ _How indeed_ ’, Mirmirel wanted to fire back, but instead, she cleared her throat and squared her shoulders as she joined her lover by his desk.  She stood opposite of him, idly flipping through the papers and open books which littered every available surface.  He made no attempt to stop her.

"I woke up outside.”  She admitted at last, and with no small measure of reluctance.  It wouldn’t be the first time she had sleepwalked, but she hadn’t done it so severely since she’d been a small child.  She’d once frightened a guard by sitting calmly at a table in the main hall in the early hours of the morning, but she’d never wandered outside.

Her eyes slid to where Solas stood, quietly watching.  He offered no judgement, and instead, quirked his head slightly to the side.  She knew his body language by now; He was waiting for her to elaborate.  Mirmirel quickly cleared her throat as she dropped herself into his chair, busied her hands with the dwarven puzzle box in front of her.  "I had a dream,“  She explained.  "At least, I think it was a dream.”  She glanced up at him, eyes mildly accusatory.   Solas shook his head.

“Just a dream,”  He assured her.  It wasn’t as though she had reason to doubt him after their first encounter in the Fade, but he’d had no guiding hand in this.  "What manner of dream?“ He asked, and Mirmirel sighed.

"I don’t know,”  She muttered, eyes unfocused as she sorted through her head, tried to remember.  There were some days when recollection of her dreams came easily to her, and of course, this was not one of those days.  "I was chasing something,“  She decided.  "Maybe I was hunting.”

“What were you hunting?”  Solas prompted, encouraging.  Mirmirel scrubbed her hands over her face in frustration.

“I couldn’t tell.  It was black.  Opaque.  Like a shadow, but darker.  Heavier.  I could feel the ground tremor when it ran.  There were dogs baying, but I never saw them. ”  She looked up at him, hopeful for some insight.  It hadn’t been a particularly frightening dream, only unsettling.  And even that was likely more due to the circumstances in which she woke, rather than the imagery itself.  Mirmirel wasn’t afraid of shadows.

“Did you catch him?”  Solas asked after a pause, and Mirmirel blinked.

“No,”  She realized, and laughed softly at the revelation.  "I didn’t.  I suppose that makes me a poor hunter,“  She added in an attempt to lighten the mood.  Solas looked troubled, his face drawn, shoulders stiff.  He caught her gaze, golden-brown meeting steely blue, and at last, a slow smile spread across his face.

"Or perhaps you had particularly wily prey,”  He reasoned.  "My concern, however, is why this chase left you standing out in the rain.“

"I sleepwalk,”  Mirmirel repeated, and scrunched her brow when Solas gave a short laugh.

“Yes,”  He affirmed, eyes twinkling,  "I have seen.  But never with such determination.“

"You could tie me to the bed,”  Mirmirel offered, sly, and she quickly bit back a snort of laughter as Solas glanced sharply at her, one eyebrow twitched low.  He didn’t even need to rebuke her.  When he spoke again, his voice was low and firm.

“You make light of the situation, but it could have very easily become a tragedy.  If not the rain, it could have been the steps.  A fall.  Frostbite.”  That gnawing ache had returned to his stomach, and he reached out to touch her hands, took them in his own.  He trailed off, and Mirmirel’s face softened. She squeezed his hands, and he shut his eyes against the comfort she offered.

“I’m not going anywhere,”  She promised him.  "Even if they did find me frostbitten in the snow, Cassandra wouldn’t have any problem just cutting pieces off of me as long as they could still strap me upright to the throne.“  The mental image made her chuckle, but Solas evidently wasn’t so easily amused.  His eyes were shut, brow wrinkled, and Mirmirel’s laughter caught in her throat.  She reached out to touch his face.  "Solas?”  She questioned.  " _Vhenan_?  What’s the matter?“

He didn’t answer right away.  He gathered her hand to himself, clutched it against his chest.  His breath steadied as her fingers curled in his shirt, and she watched her from half-lidded eyes as she slowly stood.  Her hands warmed him, cold though they were, as they cupped his face.

"I upset you,”  She worried.  "I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have–“  She fumbled, and he silenced her with the press of his thumb against her lips.

"Hush,”  Solas whispered.  "You’ve done nothing wrong.“  The knowledge burned him, chewed at him.  How could she know that this felt like justice, retribution for his mistake? That his bitterness had nothing to do with her, and everything to do with himself?  The truth was in his throat, caught.  It’d be so easy to speak it, to tell her, confide in her.  Ah, but she might despise him– And with good reason.  

And he knew he couldn’t bear it.  He gathered her close, pressed his mouth against hers in a long, tender kiss.  His fingers threaded in her hair, fingertips scratching against her scalp.  One hand lowered to rest against her waist, and the other cupped the back of her neck, encouraged her to deepen the kiss with a slow and steady rub of his thumb.

She pressed back against him, eager to accept his invitation.  Her hands wouldn’t still, eager to stroke his chest, touch his hips, his face, his shoulders.  She paused only when she was breathless, lips still tingling from the sensation of his lips.  Even then she chased his mouth as he drew back and pressed his forehead to her brow instead.

"Not now,”  He murmured before she could ask.  He kissed her eyelids when she closed her eyes, gathered one of her hands against his chest.  "Get warm, and get some rest.  Here,“  He turned to the side, looked to the divan where he slept.  "I’ll watch.”

“I know,”  Mirmirel whispered.  "You always do.“  She kissed his cheek, and the sweetness of it ached.  ” _Ar lath ma_ ,“  She breathed.  

The words stung too much to speak, and he kissed her instead, light, chaste, thumb stroking across her cheek.  He might not have spoken it, but he repeated it in his head, over and over. _Ar lath ma.  Ar lath ma, vhenan.  Ma vhenan_.

He watched her leave to change out of her clothes, and Solas stood rigid in place until the sound of her footsteps faded away.  Without another word, he scaled his scaffolding and spread a wide strip of white plaster across the wall.

He must start again.


End file.
